Never End
by songsofcerulean
Summary: One of the remaining Charmed Ones struggles with the death of a sister. Rated R for depression and suicide. Complete. r&r if the Spirit moves you.
1. Part I

_A/N_**:**  Rated R.  All pre-existing chapters have been revised/edited.  Complete.

**Warning:** If you are uncomfortable with suicide, do **not** read this.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own 'Charmed' or any of the characters on it.

"Never End" Part I 

Sometimes I believe that this pain will never end. Thoughts crawl through my mind, thoughts that tell me that nothing will ever get better. My sister will never overcome her pain; and I will never overcome my guilt. Why wasn't I the one who died? Why did it have to be her? This is my fault; it should have been me.  
  
I know that almost all people believe that the death of a family member is their fault; especially when you are as close as we were. I will never forget the laughs we shared, the fights we shared, and the lives we shared. The three of us had the biggest secret of any sisters you will ever meet. There was no one like us in the world... except for each other. We had each other, and with that, we learned to love and trust each other in a way that no set of "normal" people ever could.  
  
Now she is gone. There should have been more time. We should have had more time, more warning. Something... anything! A potion, a spell, some kind of magical help. No one came. No one was there.  
  
Now I feel as if I have lost both of my beloved sisters; and I'm losing myself, too. All I want now is for it to end, for some demon to come and kill me. Whether that demon is one of the physical realms, or one that I've created within myself. It feels as if that demon does not come and take my life soon that I will take it myself.  
  
I have lost my sisters.  
  
Over the past three years, my sisters have been my life, my hope, and my support. They were the reason that I breathed the way I did and felt the confidence that held my head up so that I could see the world. And now, it feels as if there is nothing. I am hollow. The only thing left in place of my life is the pain of a heartbreak that not even the remaining Charmed Ones can change. No way to fix it; no hope.  
  
I have lost myself.  
  
There is nothing that I want more in this life than to have my older sister alive and breathing. I would give this life to have her back here, on earth, on the physical plain. I would give anything to see my only sister smiling genuinely at the sight of Prue. I would give anything for her to be alive.  
  
The voice that is in the back of my mind tells me that this kind of heartache never ends. I have gone through a family loss before, only one that I can vividly remember, but the pain of losing Grams seems incomparable to losing my sister. Losing my sister... I have lost my sister...  
  
How can I go on? Every breath I take allows more pain to seep into my body. How I breathe is a mystery to me. Every night that passes by, I expect to not wake up the next day, but, somehow, I always seem to open my eyes. The dreams in the night haunt me. They all tell me that it is my fault, that I should end the pain I experience before I drag my other sister into the void with me.  
  
How do I go on like this? How do I go on with this pain?  
  
This pain will never end...  
  



	2. Part II

Part II

Never end. It will not ever end.  
  
No longer do I sleep. I simply close my eyes and lose consciousness. I no longer dream. Memories of the past flood my mind at night, when I lay awake and think of what had been. I cannot stand to think of the future; it seems as if there is none. There is no future, because there are no Charmed Ones. Evil will over take the world; ruin it, just as my life has been ruined.  
  
Every step that I take feels as if I am walking with lead feet towards self-destruction and away from the memories of my sister's life. My breath grows heavier, as if the air is thicker than it has ever been. All it would take to end this life is a dull knife or a bottle out of the medicine cabinet. Which would be easier? I'm not sure if I want it to be easy. I don't know if I want to feel the pain. Could I watch myself bleed to death? Am I desperate enough to sit down and decide to die?  
  
I'm afraid. I fear what I may not finish. If I cut the life away, or take something... what if I don't cut deep enough? What would happen then?  
  
I'm afraid. I fear what I may start. It's a never ending spiral. That is what I'm standing on the edge of. If I start down this road, I may not be able to turn back.  
  
What about my living sister? How can I sit here and think about ending my life without even considering what will happen to her when I am gone? Am I that insensitive? Can I no longer feel what used to be instinct?  
  
I'm afraid. I fear myself. I sit outside myself and watch myself do things that I would never normally do. I hear myself think things I would never normally think. I know I need help. I know that all I have to do is say something and I'll get the help I need. Need, not want. Do I want help? What would they think? If I told them that I thought I might hurt myself, would they panic? How would they react?  
  
Am I even sure that I want to die?  
  



	3. Part III

**Part III**

You always think that it will never happen to you. You always think that only "unstable" people start thinking this way. You always tell yourself that, until one day-it is you. You're the one who may be considered "unstable." You realize it, and you think, "how? How did I come to be this way?"  
  
I can't tell when this happened. I hope that no one else can see what's become of my scarred heart. I wish to whatever Powers exist that no one realizes what thoughts invade my mind in the weakest moments of time.  
  
The thoughts-they make my mind spin, they attack my heart when I finally believe that things may be better. I wake every morning believing that today may be better. Maybe. But I wake, and all it takes is an instant after I walk down the hall and see a picture hanging on the wall, or smell the scent of fresh coffee drifting up from the kitchen, and my heart falls through the floor again.  
  
How can anyone go on like this? It seems that when my sister took her last breath, that that was when I did, too. I died, and it feels as if there is nothing in this world that could ever bring me back. My heart beats no more, but on the physical plain, it pounds, roaring in my ears. I cannot stand the sound of my own heartbeat. It deafens me, slowly driving me insane. I feel it moving in every part of me, and it burns. It burns, knowing that blood is pumping through my veins, and, at the same time, holding onto the knowledge that my beloved sister will never feel her heart beat again.  
  
How do others manage to do this? Every day you'll hear about someone dying tragically. How do their families manage to go on? I know that it couldn't be easy, that it will never be easy, but if there could at least be some kind of explanation... if there was something. We've been searching for what seems like an eternity; and still, there is nothing. Of course, we've read the books, the ones that are supposed to help you keep coping with daily life, but I don't think that they're doing anything for me. Then again, it really doesn't matter.  
  
I'm walking through life blindfolded now. Words that will protect me have become automatic. I don't know how many times a day I say, "I'm fine," "I'm alright," or something along those lines. I'll say anything to reassure people that everything is under control. It really does feel like I'm carrying around a secret that could destroy me. For a while, I didn't know why I felt this way. I had nothing to hide. But now, I know I have a secret. I don't want to live. And, for some reason, I feel better knowing that no one else knows; knowing that as long as I'm the only one that knows that I think the things I think, I'm safe.  
  
The things I think are trance-like now. In fact, I don't even think them anymore. They're just there, inside of my head. They simply exist there. Like the knife. The sharp, shiny knife that was left sitting on the kitchen island. It was simply there; it just existed. And because of its existence, the thought existed, too. It never even formed words in my mind; it was just there. I picked it up. It weighed down in my hand. It looked so sharp. I touched the blade with my fingertips. It was cold. Death is cold. I ran the side of the blade over the back of my hand. It was smooth, too. It would be easy... I took the blade to my wrist, laying the flat of it against my light green vein. It would be so easy...  
  
I dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the kitchen floor. Why had I done that? It took a moment for it to register in my mind why I had. The front door had slammed, and I had dropped the knife. I swallowed the lump in my throat and crouched to pick up the knife. No. I stood, and looked down at the steely knife, watching the morning light glint off the blade. Leave it.  
  
Why had I done that? Why had I done any of it? Death. The knife was death. That had to be it. It had to be the reason why I had picked it up, put it to my skin... It was death. If not, it was just like it. Death. It was sharp, cold, and smooth... It was exactly like death. "Death cuts like a knife." Death is the knife...


	4. Part IV

**Part IV**

It's simple, isn't it?  Get help.  Talk to someone, tell someone.  Just blurt it out!  I think these things... and my own laughter echoes about my mind, disappearing into the dark abyss I call a heart.  Simple... how insane.  Simplicity exists in nothing except those things that were created to be simple.  This, this, is not simple.  It has not been simple from the start, and the end will be even less simple than the beginning.

It has been months now.  I have lived in my darkness for months, and no one, not even my sister, has noticed.  Perhaps she is rolling in her grief.  I wouldn't know, I have not taken the time to look.  I spend all day working, keeping busy.  I get up early and get home late... just like Prue used to.  Coffee is my best friend now.  It keeps me going through out the day, though I silently curse it when it keeps me up at night.  In truth, part of me is glad that I don't really sleep that much anymore.  I don't have to dream.  I don't have to see memories of Prue, our happy times and our horrid times.  I don't have to watch every innocent die again and every demon laugh.

I can smile now.  I have people convinced.  I have her convinced.  Our Whitelighter isn't completely entranced by my façade, but the words I speak seem to keep him at bay of my emotions.  I can laugh now, just recently, actually.  It sounds genuine, too; my high school drama teacher would be proud.

I'm not quite sure I can keep playing my part much longer.  I will.  I just keep thinking about the 'consequences'.  You know, the things that Christians say about suicide and what happens to your soul afterwards.  I've seen proof of things like reincarnation and ghosts, even heaven.  But I've seen hell, too.  There is a hell.  So what all of the priests rant about, could it be true?  They couldn't know.  They have not seen all of the truths I have seen.

I may damn myself, but that is not an issue that I care about.  Right now, all I care about is sitting here and watching my sister sleep.  She does it so well.  People speak of an innocent child looking like an angel in their sleep; perhaps they are right, though it does not now pertain to an innocent.  She breathes so steadily, so slowly.  I wish that I could live in this moment, with me here in this chair, watching the only person I love on earth lying there, asleep.  I cannot stand it anymore... I have to go away.

My steps press themselves lightly through the room as I make my way to the door.  If I could form words in my mind right now, I would be able to hear my Grams whispering her trademark 'never look back.'  I turn slowly to look at the last of the Warren line.  She sleeps so soundly; and turns softly onto her side, a single word whispering its way out of her lips.  "Prue."

'Never look back.'  My mind is made up.  I slip out of her room and down the hall, courteously missing a creaky board.  My room seems dark, dank with the stench of a death that hasn't happened yet.  The bottle is heavy in my hands, weighing my mind down even further.  The glass of water I set out for myself earlier hasn't moved from my nightstand.  With numb fingers, I gingerly twist off the bottle cap and dump a handful of sleeping pills into my palm.  This will be my first heap of pills, swallowed carefully two by two, until the rattling from the bottle ceases.

I will die like so many others... how horrible it is that these thoughts are so deeply ignored, that so many people drift wordlessly into the dark.

Fin 


End file.
